


dreams of Death

by darthpumpkinspice



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dream Sex, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hate Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pre-Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/pseuds/darthpumpkinspice
Summary: At night, Death stalks the last Valkyrie's dreams.





	dreams of Death

**Author's Note:**

> fyi, this is set directly after the original battle between Hela and the Valkyrie that we see in flashbacks in thor Ragnarok. In this fic, Hela has recently been imprisoned by Odin

Nightmares follow the last Valkyrie wherever she wanders.

She has severed her ties to Asgard, purposefully losing herself amongst the stars so that even the warm, familial echo of home cannot pull her back. She boxes up her memories of lavish banquets, golden spires, and a training hall bright with the sounds of laughter and metal against metal, and she locks those memories in a dark corner of her mind that she dares not touch. She forces her thoughts to skirt around those memories, and resolves not to dwell on them for at least a thousand years. Her people are long-lived, and she hopes her heart will be healed by then.

But her lover’s name is carved deep into her aorta and every heartbeat leeches away the Valkyrie’s strength. Her blood pulses weak and slow, like a Midgardian. She does not feel like a warrior, for a warrior would’ve been strong enough to save her beloved… or at least avenge her passing.

She has punished herself so much in the last few months, taxing her reserves of self-hatred, so that the memory of how she failed her love in both life and death leaves only a bitter aftertaste in her throat. She swallows it down, and her tongue scrapes heavy and dry along the roof of her mouth. She tries not to allow herself the indulgence of missing her (she doesn’t _deserve_ to miss her), but the wound in her heart still aches and bleeds with every breath.

At night, she hides away in the alleyway behind an abandoned building and stares up at an alien sky. None of the constellations are familiar, and she is surprised that such a neutral observation can spark such a profound pang of loneliness. Her beloved used to adore the stars, Valkyrie remembers. She would clasp their hands together and point out each star system and burgeoning galaxy, and reward Valkyrie with kisses whenever she correctly identified a constellation. Valkyrie almost lets herself remember her lover's smile, but even the shadow of the memory is too agonizing to hold onto, and she lets it go.

Her tears dry under unfamiliar stars, and she lets herself sink into sleep.

This night as always, she dreams of death, and of Death.

Valkyrie knows these are no ordinary dreams, no _draumskrok_ that torment her mind. She feels the edge of realness in them just as surely as she feels the coil of danger unravel low in her belly. She’s the last survivor, the last of her sworn sisters, and Death haunts her deliberately.

Even in her own mind she cannot escape as Death unfolds herself; whispering, living masses of shadow coalescing into a woman’s form. She is naked, tauntingly beautiful – as if to remind Valkyrie of what she can no longer possess. Black hair spills around her, as sleek and dark as an oil slick. Her lips quirk into a smile, but her green eyes are filled with a tremendous loathing.

She approaches with all the deadly, feline grace of a predator, her hips swaying seductively. As always, Valkyrie finds she cannot pull her gaze away, and as always she hates herself for it. In the last nine dreams she tried to gouge her eyes out in penance, but Hela only mocked her foolishness and took her anyway.

Valkyrie closes her eyes and stills herself; her muscles tremble at her enemy’s nearness, aching to bridge the gap between them and rip out Hela’s throat. It is a fight against every instinct beaten into her by Odin and all his battles, but she wills her body into obedience.       

Hela laughs, and licks against her neck, her tongue teasing up Valkyrie’s jugular. Valkyrie shivers in disgust, but starved of anything else, even disgust can resemble lust. It is a shallow mimicry, but it is still _arousal_ – her heart beats faster, her eyes dilate, and something hot and heavy drops through her stomach all the way to her groin.

Valkyrie seizes Hela by the hair, wrapping a fist around her inky mane, and shoves her to the ground. Hela’s eyes light up with a malicious glee, and she laughs in delight – a sound that is only half-silenced by Valkyrie’s hands pressing on her throat. “Take what you want, little warrior,” she croaks out. “You know I win either way.”

Valkyrie has never had much respect for poets and silver-tongued wordsmiths, but now she wishes she had their ability to describe the indescribable, and put a name to the feeling Hela elicits within her. It is beyond hatred, beyond revulsion… it is something sticky and black and ugly, and it grows inside her like a cancer. If given a dagger, she would gladly cut out her own heart to excise it.

A low growl escapes through gritted teeth, and she shoves Hela away as if burned by her corpse-pale skin. She _refuses_ to give in…again. But when she looks up, Hela’s black hair is pooling on the ground underneath her, and her legs have spread open to reveal her womanhood. With a smirk, she licks a finger and slides it inside of herself. The burn of half-lust rises like bile in her throat, and with a shudder Valkyrie’s will crumbles into ash.

By the time it takes her to reach Hela, she has already shed her clothes, and without a word she mounts the other woman’s face. Hela tilts her head back and opens her mouth obligingly, her tongue snaking out to lap at Valkyrie’s clit. Valkyrie bucks her hips and grinds herself savagely against the other woman’s face, riding her until she comes. Her orgasm is an unfulfilling release- despite their position, she’s acutely aware that any submission on Hela’s part is purely for show. She’s a creature of infinite power and malice, and any control she appears to relinquish is merely an illusion.

“Do not come back,” Valkyrie begs her. “Leave me be, let me rot and die in my misery.”

Hela’s green eyes shimmer with a cold, empty disgust. She licks at her red, swollen lips and smiles. “Dear Valkyrie,” she purrs. “If I am made to suffer, so are you.”  

When Valkyrie awakens, the unfamiliar stars have given way to a pink sunrise. She picks herself up and trudges onwards, relentless. In time, she knows Hela’s powers will weaken, and the dreams will finally end. And perhaps when that day comes, she will dream of her beloved once more.


End file.
